A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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Tuesday
Feb082011

As I continue to contemplate the future of this blog, I happen upon two moose, a kid exits a school bus and I prepare to fly to Barrow

I know - as moose pictures go, this one is fairly boring - but this is the moose picture that presented itself to me today as I set out on my walk, so it is the picture that I got.

And this is the kid-getting-off-the school bus picture that presented itself after I had walked about two miles and was returning home.

I must keep this post short. In just hours, I board a jet to Barrow and before I do, I've got to get a haircut, pick up my once broken but now repaired 16-35 mm lens as well as some other supplies and eat some tacos or something.

I fear that for the next week, my posts are likely to be tiny, next to nothing - which is the irony that I always face when I am in the field. I will be shooting pictures like crazy and I should get some pretty decent ones, but I will not have time to edit them, I will not have time to process them, my internet connection will be slow and I will be using my laptop, which is still malfunctioning because I have not been able to repair it, so I will not be able to post anything more than a token image or two per day.

I will do my best to post something every day. I can't promise, but I will do my best.

And for all of you who gave me suggestions regarding my contemplation about the future of this blog, be assured that I have read them all and am thinking about what you say.

I expect to return to Wasilla early next week and then to stay home for about three weeks before I head back into the field for a more extended stay.

I will continue the contemplation at that time and, before that three weeks is over, will seek to take at least one concrete step towards that future.

I've got to go now.

I am a very shy person, but I know that I am going to have to dance in front of a large audience at least a couple of times before this week is over.

I know it. There is no way out around it. I am going to have to do it.

I will try to make it fun.

 

Three from India: Bill, Vijay, and Melanie

Yesterday, my nephew Vijay left a comment on a recent post in which he made a request that I pull up a picture that he took of me at Mahabalipuram-Mamallapuram, the place where a temple is carved out of a rock.

So, as ridiculous as I look, I honor his request. You will note that my shirt is soaked with sweat. That is because it was 198.6 degrees F there. I am not kidding. I am not exaggerating. That's how hot it was.

And that was the coolest that it got the whole time that Melanie and I were in India.

This is Vijay himself, and Vasanthi, who is also his mom.

And here is Melanie, wandering about inside the temple cut out of a rock, the temple that was never finished.

I will not be able to post India pictures while I am in Barrow, but be certain, I will be remembering, continually.

 

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Reader Comments (7)

Bill, that moose photo may be "fairly boring" to you, but not to those of us not in Alaska. I love the outstretched neck of what I'm guessing is the momma moose with her baby behind her? Thanks for sharing......

Marilyn

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterMarilyn

what a spectacular temple, not sure i could handle the heat though....have a great trip

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

The Weather Channel's Jim Cantore had a special on yesterday about Barrow. It was really interesting.

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered Commentersallyngarland,tx

the meese have such skinny seemingly delicate legs. currently i'm just finishing up a passage to india by e m forster. a scandal takes place in the marabar caves which i envision look exactly like the unfinished temple u just published. now there's a coincidence!

February 9, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterruth deming

Those "skinny" moose legs would shock you if you ever managed to get close enough for actual scale....! Although I would prefer more distance twixt me and a cow and calf. :)

February 10, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterD

Beautiful images... Beautiful land... Have a dream to visit Alaska...

February 12, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterValeriu Ungureanu

Thanks Uncle Bill.

February 24, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterVijay

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